


Hurt It Worse (Kiss It Better)

by parsnips (trifles)



Series: Tumblr Treasures [25]
Category: Glee
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Violence, Denial of Feelings, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Roleplay, Rough Kissing, Thinking of someone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trifles/pseuds/parsnips
Summary: When Blaine's thinks about it, he supposes that this shouldn't be something they want. But it is. It is. (And it's not about anything else.)





	Hurt It Worse (Kiss It Better)

They’re standing in the bedroom of their new apartment – theirs, _theirs,_ not just something he had to carve a spot into – and Blaine takes a deep breath, looks over at Dave. “Hey,” he says. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Dave’s holding one of the rainbow tie-dyed pillows Brittany had found, smiling down at it while he turns it over in his hands, but at Blaine’s words he looks up. And then he inhales a little, maybe at whatever’s showing on Blaine’s face, and puts down the pillow.

Blaine backs up until he reaches the bedroom wall. They don’t do this often (not as often as Blaine would like, to be honest), but, sometimes… Blaine loosens his tie, tilts his chin down, looks up at Dave from under his eyelashes, and says, “I think you might be a little confused.”

Dave stands stock still a moment, but his pupils go dark, dark, and yeah, _yes,_ this is going to be fucking fantastic.

These days, Dave walks like he’s careful of where his body is in relation to everybody else. It’s not that he seems worried about taking up too much space, more like… he knows what his body is capable of doing to other people. They’re fragile, and he’s not. Not in that way. It makes him thoughtful.

When they’d first met, Dave – _Karofsky_ – had made sure everybody knew exactly what he was capable of. He’d cultivated a field of personal space capable of shoving people through walls without having to touch them at all.

Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t.

He’d touched Blaine, for one thing.

When Dave steps forward now, it’s not the careful walk of a man who keeps his power in check. This is Karofsky. (This is the heat of something rough scraping against Blaine’s skin, even from half a room away.)

“It’s a very hard thing to come to terms with,” Blaine says. He sounds goading, driving the words in, nothing like he did when they’d done this for real, years ago.

Karofsky rushes him, shoves him against the wall, fist crumpling his shirt. The only thing that betrays the now from then is the hand that catches the back of Blaine’s head before it hits the wall. For a second Blaine wishes that Dave hadn’t broken that illusion, had kept going, kept it real. (But this isn’t about him, it’s about both of them, it’s supposed to be about both of them.)

Karofsky has him pinned, the wall harder than the rattling wire fencing had been – but their bodies hadn’t been this close either, flush against one another, and hard, fuck, yes, hard against each other. Blaine’s hands are up, but he shifts his legs, and Karofsky is there, shoving his thigh between them as he twists his fist tighter on Blaine’s shirt.

Karofsky’s expression is dark, his eyes moving over Blaine’s face, settling on his mouth. “Do not,” he says, almost hoarse with it, “mess with me.”

Blaine bites his lip, just because it makes Karofsky breathe harder, and says, “You’re not alone.”

The kiss– he sees stars. He’s still got his hands up, pulled away, and it’s only Karofsky keeping him standing, all that power spilling out and focused on him. Like there’s nothing else in the room. Like there’s never going to be anything else. Like a closeted kid’s first chance at something he can’t have.

He can’t keep it up for long (sometimes, when he’s not thinking too clearly and he hopes that nothing actually leaves his mouth, he thinks _ropes_), and his arms fall over Karofsky’s shoulders, his hands fist his hair. Closer. Harder. He goes on his toes so he can rub his cock up against Karofsky’s hard thigh, and Karofsky jerks, his hips a half-thrust away from burying Blaine into the wall.

He’d caught himself, though, and that’s not what Blaine wants, not what he needs, and Blaine rips his mouth away, drags Karofsky’s head down. “Show me,” he says into Karofsky’s ear, and fuck, _fuck,_ Karofsky lets go of his shirt only to grab hold of his ass, lift him up, settle him high on Karofsky’s thigh where he can almost ride and almost, almost fall. Karofsky waits long enough to make sure Blaine’s balanced and then– then he’s got his hand on Blaine’s zipper, and it doesn’t take a second for him to have his hand on Blaine’s cock, his mouth sucking hard on Blaine’s neck, and the air smells like sweat and schoolyards and–

This doesn’t happen often, and maybe it’s because of that, but jesus, he’d take sex with Karofsky over sex with–

With just about anyone else. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](https://tmblr.co/ZQjLyx1aypCuy).


End file.
